Rover
by GraveDigger Resurrection
Summary: How do I explain? Sara Sidle is not a happy woman, and Gil Grissom is in trouble! And it's all Rover's fault. GSR


TITLE: Rover

CATEGORIES: Romance/Humor

RATING: PG-13 for language

A/N: Enjoy! A little bit of GSR that is totally OOC, and I couldn't resist writing.

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The night started just as any other night would. Nick Stokes, Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, and Greg Sanders arrived for the Wednesday graveyard shift. They met up with Gil Grissom first thing for cases to be handed out, and began a brief staff meeting. Just like any other night.

It was all completely normal, until, fifteen minutes into the meeting, Sara Sidle came storming into the room. Sara Sidle was pissed off. And as they followed her gaze to their oddly guilty-looking supervisor, they knew only one thing. Gil Grissom was totally screwed.

She ignored all of them, except for Greg, who had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows at her suggestively. She kicked him in the shin, accompanying it with her best "eat-shit-and-die" glare. Everyone cringed as he let out a pained squeak.

She made her way to the head of the table they used for meetings and meals, stopping when she was two feet from him. Smacking both hands down onto the table in front of her, she was suddenly only inches from his face. For the first time in anyone's memory, Grissom looked frightened.

"Gil Grissom," she snarled, making him flinch. "When I went to take a shower in the morning, just what do you think I found in the bathroom?"

He fidgeted now, looking very uncomfortable.The others wondered what in the world this had to do with _anything_. "I, uh, I'm not sure."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then I suggest you think very hard," she said softly. Too softly. "Try and decide what it was I found when I was ready to get in the nice warm water."

He blinked, trying to keep his face impassive, but the noticed the tic high in his left cheek. "I...I don't think we should be discussing this here, Sara," he said, trying his best to sound authoritative.

She let out a sort of low growl. Everyone held their breath."Oh," she said softly, almost seductively if it were not for the seething venom in her voice. "but I do."

Silence reigned supreme for a moment, before she pulled back a little. He let out a breath, along with the other now forgotten occupants of the room. Then she spoke again. "I was prepared to let you off the hook for leaving the seat up, _again._" she snapped, sounding huffy. He winced, and Greg Sanders choked on his coffee while Nick and Warrick strangled on their bagels. Catherine's eyebrows shot upward. "But then, as I was pulling back the shower curtain, what do you think I came across?"

He looked rather lost. "Erm..."

"Or more importantly, what do you think came across the bathroom floor?"

This time, he shifted and cringed, a vague look of knowing drifting cross his features. Still, he tried to keep up his act of ignorance. "I don't–"

She drew herself up to her full height, placing a hand on each hip as she cut him off with a yell that was almost a shriek. "A TARANTULA!" She cried, her voice full of enraged indignation. "Your goddamn tarantula was scuttling all over the floor, and it WAS HEADED STRAIGHT TOWARDS ME! I was in nothing but a towel, and that, that _fanged menace_ comes creeping towards me, ready to sink it's pincers into my foot, or, or crawl up it with it's hairy legs!" She shuddered.

He gasped then, genuine concern in his eyes. They thought he might be saved by his compassion. "You didn't kill it did you?" Four head's smacked against the table in distress.

She did let out a shriek then, throwing her hands up in the air. "NO, IT DIDN'T BITE ME, THANKS FOR _ASKING!_"

He looked ruffled, and began to try to rationalize it like the investigator he was. "Well, obviously you're fine or you wouldn't be here, so...I just assumed..." he broke off, flustered, actually wringing his hands. "Look, is it ok?"

She closed her eyes for a long moment. "I ought to have squashed the damn thing into oblivion." She let out a disgusted snort as she pulled something from her coat pocket. "If you hadn't _named_ the fucking thing, I _would_ have!" She set the glass jar on the table. Inside, a tarantula sat happily. "Rover, for chrissake Gris, _Rover! _Who the _hell_ names a spider_ Rover?_" She mumbled angrily, as he snatched up the jar and examined his 'pet' closely.

"I like the name Rover," he replied absently.

"I think you happen to like sleeping on a mattress more," she replied coldly, though they could see her icy fury was melting as he looked at the spider.

His head did jerk up at that. "W-well yes...yeah, I-I...yeah." Her couch was very lumpy.

"So we keep 'Rover' in his habitat from now on, right?" He nodded obediently, holding the jar carefully, but his blue eyes, full of apprehension, concentrated on her alone.

She held his gaze for a long moment, before a smile broke out on her face finally. "And remember to put the lid back down, wouldya Gis? It's a bitch to almost fall in in the middle of the night."

He nodded again, guiltily. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She just sighed, and grinned. "Hey, you were a bug man before you were my man," she returned gently. "And yes, Grissom, I know that tarantulas are _not_ bugs, they're arachnids." He closed his mouth, which had dropped open to protest. They shared a look for a long moment, and no one else existed.

"So," Sara Sidle said finally, breaking eye contact with Gill Grissom as she looked around at Nick Stokes, Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, and Greg Sanders, who all had their jaws resting in their laps. "What'd I miss?"

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Poor Greg ::giggle:: Thanks for Reading! I'm gonna start on a longer fic next, methinks. Thanks for Reading! -- Asphodel 


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